Don't Stop the Fight
by Red Moon Kree
Summary: Press, at twenty-nine, is confronted with an unavoidable fate and unattainable future. Songfic to "Who I Am" by Smile Empty Soul.


**My second Pendragon fic, but I'm not new at this. My first was part of a chain story.**

**The song used in this songfic is "Who I Am," by Smile Empty Soul.**

**Do correct me if Bobby's mother has been named. I cannot remember if she has.**

**Enjoy, Pendragon fans.**

**Kree**

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* * *

**

_"I'm getting married. Do you understand, Press Tilton, I'm getting married!"_

He had to concentrate on the mission. An endless barrage of bullets missed him by inches every time and all he could think about was a stupid conversation two years ago. He mentally scolded himself as he leaned against the cold, gray wall. Loading the black handgun with a quiet click, he waited for the next assault of metal as the footsteps danced around the corner. Positioning the gun with his hands and his arms, he pointed it at the shadow that began to approach him. A bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face, there was no fear, not even anxiety. Here was his most deadly mortal enemy and he would not tremble, not even as he stared into those cold blue eyes.

But he ran. He ran from a twisted fate, a destiny he was very much afraid of. He ran into the darkness, his brown mane screaming as the wind from his speed cut through. There was only one objective, one obligation he must fulfill: get to Zadaa, get to Zadaa fast: Press Tilton, the most renowned Traveler was needed.

"I'm surprised, Press!" the black figure shouted into the subway track. "I don't find you the type of man to run! You're lucky that I have just run out of bullets."

Press ran on, disregarding the man he left behind. He stopped suddenly when three dogs with sable fur and yellow eyes pounced in front of him. Bullets would have no effect on the man who pursued him and he was glad that he saved them for the quigs.

Aim.

Shoot.

The anguished cry of a monstrous dog.

This was life.

* * *

_Another night again  
_

_Another journey without friends  
_

_Another a fight to wish away the loneliness I live_

_Another circus show  
_

_Another face that I don't know  
_

_Another night of people asking what I have to give_

_

* * *

_

The gunshot distracted the beasts for a moment and that was all he needed to slip past them. He was used to the whole ordeal, the exhilaration, the necessary violence needed in order to survive. The routine was tiring and the danger was only heightened by Saint Dane's presence. Why was he here anyway? Perhaps it had something to do with the situation of Zadaa. Osa could not tell him much when she asked for him to come.

Hair of obsidian silk and soft hazel eyes flashed into his view. A face he knew so well and had not seen for two years. Vanessa Colden… no, _Pendragon. _Vanessa Pendragon. That was her name now, and the name was like venom on his tongue. It would travel through the rest of his body and kill him, just like it had the other times.

No, no, he couldn't do this! Not again! He tore his way through consciousness and was relieved to see that his legs were still in motion. He could still make it.

_

* * *

I thought that I would drown  
_

_But it's okay by now

* * *

_

He didn't realize that the dogs were so close to him. The pain came so quickly that he fell to the ground without catching himself. The short knives that grew from a dog's paw stabbed his back at the same time his cheek was smashed against the cement. He was wet, wet with saliva and blood as the teeth sank into his arm. His nerves were flooded with so much pain that he couldn't tell what parts of his body the quigs had gotten to and what parts still belonged to him.

_"Get up!" _He screamed to himself but every time he tried, the quigs slammed him back down. Somehow, he always figured that if he were to die, it was at the hands of Saint Dane, not the quigs he was so accustomed to avoiding.

Look what distractions did to professionalism.

_

* * *

And all along the way I feel a part of me I have to fight  
_

_Buried somewhere deep beneath my skin  
_

_The emptiness in me is fadin'  
_

_I can see my life is waitin'  
_

_Now I know I'm livin' for who I am_

_Now I know I'm livin' for who I am...

* * *

_

And then it was over. The tearing, the clawing, the biting, all of it. The quig was on top of him, his weight adding to the difficulty of getting to his feet. To his amazement, as he took a quick glance to his right, he saw the black quig on the ground beside him, but not its yellow eyes. The beast was sleeping, as was the one on top of him, as were the others that had joined in around him. The effects of some sort of yellowish gas in the air, but who had released such a chemical? Surely not…

The weight was suddenly lifted from his back and he heard something slam against the wall. Saint Dane was the only one who was there, he was sure of it. Why had he drugged the dogs? Why had he taken the quig off his back?

He knew that it was of his best interest to get to his feet as quickly as possible. So although weak and bloodied, he lifted himself up with trained muscles and turned around. Venturing his own brown eyes into Saint Dane's piercing blue, he was able to regain composure although his body wanted to fall apart.

Vanessa… Vanessa Pendragon…

_

* * *

The fire grows inside  
_

_The feeling can not be denied  
_

_when everywhere I turn there's signs because they push me_

_Well I was fallin' down  
_

_But it's okay right now

* * *

_

"Why aren't I feeling the effects of the chemical?" Press demanded at first, surprised at himself that he didn't ask why Saint Dane saved him first.

"I found that nifty gas on Third Earth. Takes care of the quigs and I don't have to cover my nose. Sounds efficient to me," he mused. "How old are you, Press? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?" Saint Dane's friendliest phrase Press had ever heard only came out in the sound of a taunt.

What kind of a question was that? What did he want? "Twenty-nine," Press replied cautiously, trying his best not to sway from his feebleness. He would wait and see what Saint Dane's point was. For the first time. The hot blood of his quick wit and retorts was hard to repress.

"Twenty-nine," Saint Dane nodded with a devlish grin. "Well Press, I think I can get many more years out of you. There's plenty of time for us to play."

He should have expected that punch. He should definitely have expected it, but his mind was too mixed up into long black hair and hazel irises.

Press recovered quickly and although his face throbbed agonizingly, he was able to dodge the next punch Saint Dane threw at him. He had no time for this; he had to get to Zadaa. Dropping to the ground so he could knock Saint Dane off his feet with the swipe of his leg, Saint Dane knocked Press down with his knee. The tan haired man fell easily for his energy was draining from the cuts bestowed upon him by the quigs. As much as his soul screamed to fight back, his body could not obey.

Why did he want to fight? Why did he have to fight? For so long he had done this, knowing that it would do all the good for the world but not for him. This seemed like enough motivation for him to close his eyes.

But his eyelids would not fall. Too many years of constant fighting taught him not to. Even when he wanted to give in, nothing could stop him from battling.

_"Kill me now," _his inactivity in the dirt told Saint Dane. _"Kill me, Saint Dane. I will gladly welcome death." _

_

* * *

And all along the way I feel a part of me I have to fight  
_

_Buried somewhere deep beneath my skin  
_

_The emptiness in me is fadin'  
_

_I can see my life is waitin'  
_

_Now I know I'm livin' for who I am

* * *

_

"You're no fun today, Press," Saint Dane sighed, and kicked him over to his side. "Well that's to be expected. I should have known today would be different. Such a shame…" He knelt down with a glittering arrogance in his expression. "I still thought that someone as strong as you would not break down because of such petty matters. Although a disappointment today, hopefully not tomorrow…"

"If that's all you have to say to me, then I'll be on my way," Press tried sitting up, his voice solemn and grim.

"I heard Vanessa's son was born today. Robert Pendragon. I've even seen the child myself. Such a befitting name for the baby…surely you have seen him?" Saint Dane derided.

"Not yet," he answered quietly but there was a terrible pang in his heart.

"Don't even kid yourself, Press. You don't plan on ever seeing the baby. You'll be too busy sulking over its existence," he snickered. "Why even try anymore, Press? What importance is Halla to you now that Vanessa is gone?"

"She's been gone for two years and yet here I continue my mission," Press glared.

"Maybe being a Traveler isn't what you were meant for," he said with a twisted smile. "Look what you've had to give up: your dreams, your normal, _safe _life, your friends, and the only woman you have ever loved."

"All in order to stop you. You must feel flattered," he smirked as he slowly stood up.

"Don't even try to tell me that you hate doing this. You're not the last generation of Travelers and you _know _that you're going to die when that generation steps in. You know this and because of it, you are restricted from everything that makes you happy. Don't you want to stop?" Saint Dane whispered in his year. "Don't you want Vanessa?"

"I think saving the world is on my agenda first," Press sneered, daring a smile. "And Vanessa isn't mine to have anymore." The truth seemed to hurt more when admitted out loud, especially by himself and Saint Dane.

"Everything you do is in vain, Press!" Saint Dane laughed. "Everything you do will lead to your ultimate downfall. How does it feel to know that your destiny lies in ultimate defeat?"

He wanted to drop to his feet not because of the wounds on his body but because of how Saint Dane's words widened every hole in his heart. Misery, dissatisfaction, and fear were Saint Dane's accomplices. Saint Dane wanted to break him down, and he was a doing a pretty good job of it.

But Saint Dane started walking away, away from Press, away from the Gate. "Go ahead, Press. Go on to Zadaa. I'll be sure to meet you in my latest disguise in no less than twenty-four hours."

And there Press stood, forgetting about Zadaa, forgetting about his mission, with only the thought of dark tresses flowing in the wind.

_

* * *

When everything seems gray  
_

_When everyone is fake  
_

_No one really knows you_

_Look into their eyes  
_

_Rip off your disguise  
_

_Let 'em see the real you

* * *

_

A bouquet of white casablancas in one arm and a teddy bear in the other, he still had the capability of knocking on the door. True, he hadn't checked to find out whether or not she had returned home from the hospital but he figured that she would have after a week. Now, he was in a neighborhood, in front of a house that stood as a hostile symbol to his current wretched state. Somehow, he'd rather be facing Saint Dane again than Vanessa and her new family.

Vanessa was at the door. A breath his escaped his lips and hers at the same time. It seemed that the two of them were just as surprised to see each other although Press had planned this visit himself. Her black hair meandered past her shoulders and her eyes shone as brightly as he remembered. It was apparent that she had just been pregnant but she was still slimmer than most women. She wore a pair of jeans and olive colored sweater which made him feel awkward in his black leather jacket. His eyes shifted towards her feet in his discomfort and uncertainty.

"Press?" she whispered, stepping closer. "Press Tilton, is that you?"

"Congratulations, Nessa," he said quietly, using all of his willpower to stop himself from throwing his arms around her. He found that he didn't have to for she embraced him with a tiny squeal. He couldn't help but smile. Vanessa had never belittled herself to squeal.

"Press, why didn't you come back sooner?" she exclaimed, still squeezing him tightly. "I've missed you so much."

"You're right, I should have," he choked back tears. "I'm truly sorry, Nessa."

"Well, I'll forgive you, you fool, but only because I love you so much." Somehow, that statement shut the vocal chords off for the next few moments as they let go and looked away.

"So where's Robert?" he asked.

"He just went to run a few errands," she replied uneasily.

He smiled. "I meant the baby."

"Oh, oh yes…" she blushed. "The baby. He's sleeping in his crib."

"I won't be long," he started. "I came just to congratulate you and to give you and the baby these gifts," he handed the white flowers to her.

"Always a man of gifts," she smiled, smelling the casablancas. "They're beautiful, Press. Come on in," she motioned.

She led him up the stairs, through the hallway to a door on the left. With a gentle and precise turn of the knob, she opened it and walked in. He followed her into the dark room lit only by the light peeking in through the blinds. However, it was enough to see the newborn boy in his white and blue crib at the end of the room. The two of them walked towards the crib and gazed over the high bars.

He was not as dark haired as his mother but he shared the same rosy complexion. He was a peaceful little sleeper, covered in warm wool blankets with his arms curled up. Press found himself holding the small fingers of Vanessa's child, his tiny, delicate hand. Perhaps this boy could have been his, if only he wasn't a Traveler.

"This is little Bobby," she smiled.

Bobby. The name chased away all bitter feelings in Press's heart. Bobby. Vanessa and him could and would never be: he had not let her take the risk of Press dying on her. But this boy… this small innocent child made his mark on his soul. The love of a child is a strange thing and this boy was not even his son. Press knew in his heart that such relations did not matter: he loved Vanessa's boy and he would continue to love him as his own son regardless.

Saint Dane was wrong. There was something, someone worth fighting for. And for as long as Bobby lived, Press would never stop fighting.

_

* * *

And all along the way I feel a part of me I have to fight  
_

_Buried somewhere deep beneath my skin  
_

_The emptiness in me is fadin'  
_

_I can see my life is waitin'  
_

_Now I know I'm livin' for who I am_

_Now I know I'm livin' for who I am..._

_

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_

**A little out of character Press, but I'm sure he did find himself reluctant at times to continue his work. I think it would have been interesting if he had loved Bobby's mother but had unable to marry her because of his mission. Just an idea.**

**Wrote this in a few hours. Probably not the best.**

**Hope you enjoyed anyway.**

**Please review!**

**Kree**


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